Richard was awoken by a hard pressure in his lower belly, pushing against his anus.  It seemed his body was done with his wife.  The fox threw the sheets off of himself and swung a leg over the side as he massaged his still swollen belly.  Kathy had suggested it, a birthday dinner she'd said.  Somehow she'd known that he was a vorarephile, even though they used entirely separate computers and he'd made sure to delete his browsing history before letting her use his.  The sites had neglected to elaborate on the aftermath though.
She'd spent most of the day preparing for the main course, while he ate barely more than some crackers and electrolyte water that day, in anticipation of the big meal he'd have that night.  Then, at seven in the evening, they'd decided that it was time.  She had called him up to the bedroom where she had set everything up.
He had entered the room to find she had really outdone herself.  Candles on the nightstands and bureaus provided the only illumination, the light flickering on the four-foot-long stainless steel platter sitting on the bed.  And crouched on her hands and knees on the platter, was her, his wife, the nubile vixen stood there with an apple placed teasingly in her mouth and a selection of sauces and creams arranged to either side of her.
Richard remembered chuckling at the silliness of the whole thing, then he had gently lifted the apple from her mouth and decided to try a bit of the Buffalo sauce.  Pouring a teaspoon of the tangy spicy condiment onto her shoulder and slowly licking it out of her fur.  No, that hadn't fitted her at all, so he tried several more condiments and body parts.  Ranch on the muzzle, dijon on the fingers, hickory thighs, and finally he was satisfied with a bit of the honey mustard spread across her buttocks.  He'd bit her playfully and she'd yelped out in pain, but there was nothing to worry about, no blood drawn, his stomach would do all the work.
At that point he was ready, he had spread the sauce up and down her back and her tail and sat facing her.  They'd looked at each other for several minutes, psyching themselves up for what was to come.  Then finally he had picked up both her hands in his own, and drawn them into his mouth.  She didn't resist, Kathy let him guide her arms down his throat until he came to her head.  Face-to-face, their noses touching, she had pecked him on the snout, told him "I love you", and thrown herself down into his belly.  His jaw had strained to accommodate her as she slipped in, stretching wide to take in first her sizeable breasts and then, just as he felt her head hit his stomach, her wide hips and juicy buttocks.  The fluff of her tail tickling his nose almost made him sneeze, but he'd held it in.  Finally he reached her feet and the white tip of her tail, one last shove and she was fully inside him.
At that point he allowed himself to fall back against the pillows, his belly so large that he could barely move.  Had he been a vixen one might have suspected he was eight months pregnant with a litter of eight.  He had felt her move around inside, finding a comfortable position, but after about fifteen minutes he began to feel drowsy, his stomach preparing to digest the largest meal it had ever had, and he let himself fall asleep there, on top of the covers, with the platter and the remaining condiments on the other side of the bed.
His sleep was troubled that night.  Once, he dreamed that he woke up and crapped out a skeleton, that rose out of the toilet to strangle him with its bony fingers.  Then he woke up to find himself still in bed, stomach still churning away, then a half-digested claw of a hand burst out of the side of his expansive gut and began to rip him open.  When he woke up from that nightmare he had sat there for nearly half an hour before he was convinced that it wasn't a dream this time.  Then he'd gently set the platter on the floor and pulled the sheets over himself, ignoring the groans and grumbles of his guts.
Richard reminisced on that night as he waddled over to the bathroom.  He was fairly certain this wasn't a dream, but he couldn't be sure, he carefully analyzed his surroundings as he slowly moved forwards.  The candles had burnt down to nubs, the platter laid there with the sauces spilled on it and the carpet, and there was far too much distance between the bed and the toilet in his opinion.
Finally, he made it.  He lifted the lid and turned to squat over the porcelain seat.  Grunting, he tried to push his wife out.  He felt his sphincter widen, reluctantly, as a very large object began to pass through.  Then he heard a gasp.
He stood a bit and turned his head to look behind as an orange-furred muzzle emerged from his asshole.  A few brown spots but whole, undigested, alive.  Sighing with more than one form of relief he slid over to the bathtub just as Kathy's head emerged.
"Were you going to shit me out into the toilet?"  His wife asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
Richard grimaced as he tried to push her further out.  "No, of course not."  He lied, relieved that she couldn't see his face from down there.
He swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.  "Did you think that the anti-digestives I spent four hours rubbing into my skin would fail and you could just flush away the evidence or something?  I could smell it."
Richard's mind raced to think of a new excuse.  "You're covered in crap, aren't you?  You sure you weren't just smelling my colon?"
Kathy rather violently pushed her shoulders through and drew her right arm out of the sphincter, eliciting a yelp of pain from her host.  "I didn't just smell your crap, I use that thing too you know."  Her free hand reached around the tub for something to grab hold of.
Her husband reached behind and grabbed her hand, allowing her to pull her other arm out and grab hold as well.  Eventually they managed to pull her child-bearing hips out through his narrow male pelvis and the rest passed easily.  He stepped into the bathtub and pulled her to her feet, facing her.
"So, how was it from your end?"  He asked her.
She looked down at herself and examined her body.  "I'm covered in poop, out of breath, and haven't gone to the bathroom in nine hours, but that brief time I spent in your stomach before losing consciousness.  All those muscles surrounding me, cradling me, carressing my flesh, that felt rather nice.  How about you?"
He thought about it.  "My back's bent out of shape from carrying you, I'm starving, and my ass doesn't feel like I'll be able to sit down for months.  But you were delicious.  It felt, good to feel your body passing through mine.  In fact, you wouldn't be up for another run through?"  He said, licking his chops hungrily.
Kathy glared at him.  "The air pill and anti-acid cream were only rated for twelve hours.  As is, we cut it kind of close.  Why don't you go down and make yourself breakfast while I rinse your poop off of me?"  She suggested instead.
Slightly disappointed, Rich stepped out of the tub and headed downstairs to the kitchen.  Limping awkwardly all the way.  He opened the fridge and ate half a pack of microwavable bacon, cold and slimy (the package said it was safe), right away and then began to fry some eggs and toast for him and his wife.  As he flipped one egg he heard the shower stop and he thought again of how delicious she had been that night.  So succulent, so meaty, they would have to do that again some time.  In fact, why not now?  He could pounce and gulp her just as she entered the kitchen.  No need to worry about the antacids, he would let her out before they wore off.  Or maybe not?
He was starting to wonder about the possibility of making a proper meal, not just belly filler, or his wife when he heard the toilet flush.  Then Richard began to think, that could have been her.  Not merely using the toilet to dispose of her metabolic by-products, her mortal remains very nearly ended up being a brown paste to be disposed of with a moment's thought.  His wife!  His soulmate, his partner, who had been willing to risk everything to make him happy, and he was thinking of reducing her to poop.
Then a loud screeching noise from the smoke alarm woke him from his contemplation.  The eggs he'd been cooking were unrecognizable cinders, hurriedly he took the pan off the burner and scraped the contents into the sink.  Kathy rushed down to see what was the matter.
"Sorry", he apologized.  "Got distracted.  The toast seems fine."  He grabbed two pieces of lightly singed toast out of the toaster and put them on a plate for her.
She sighed and took the pan from him, scrubbing off the burnt egg and spraying it with liquid butter.  He thought about her again, how understanding she was, he had to repay her somehow.  Then he recalled her description of what his stomach felt like.  "Kathy."  Richard said.  She perked an ear in his direction.
"Have you thought about what you'd like for your birthday?"